


Nameless

by izzyisozaki



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: (nothing really graphic), Additional Warnings Apply, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Developing Relationship, Fairy Tale Curses, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Herbology, Historical Fantasy, Imprisonment, M/M, Mountains, Near Death Experiences, Sad Katsuki Yuuri, Skating, Supportive Victor Nikiforov, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Winter, Wizards, ☜
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:50:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzyisozaki/pseuds/izzyisozaki
Summary: Some spells are too great to break alone.





	Nameless

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this from scratch just to apply to a specific zine yet failed to submit in time please bury me??? After all that effort I had two fantastic betas ([shadhahvar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rakel) and [Lou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/louciferish)) so if this first chapter is leggible it's only thanks to them
> 
> This is historical fantasy. The foreign words are Italian, with an occasional nod to any major language spoken at the border between Italy and Switzerland. Yūri has traveled a lot, and uses the local language when referring to various things, especially if they're magical in nature. Hopefully it doesn't feel too contrived.

Victor had known this day would come – since his apprenticeship, to be precise. He was bent over a large spell book studying charms for healing animals when he was distracted by a blue flame, burning feebly in a bronze tripod opposite of him. The flame flared up suddenly, painting the pages of the magic formulas in blue. He had seen stranger things while sitting in the small studio every night, but it felt like an omen that something was about to happen, nonetheless. 

When the flame returned to burning like before, his gaze shifted to the magnificent crystal sphere, Leggenda, flickering with the gleam of its light. It was the most powerful crystal owned by his master, Lord Yakov, who always left it somewhere in sight. In rare cases, the sphere worked even without being prompted by the old wizard’s magic, but the images were fuzzy at best. That was why Victor had always ignored it, whether or not he was curious about the future.

Till now.

At first, it was barely audible, like a babbling brook hidden by the vegetation of the forest. As time drifted on, however, Victor had no doubt it was the sound of someone crying, getting louder from inside the sphere. Reaching slowly across the table, he took Leggenda from the hollow cushion it lay on and analyzed it carefully. The sphere had gone pure white and felt cold in Victor’s hand, but he did not let it go. The crying stopped, and suddenly he saw a dash of brown moving across the white.

Someone…?

The image soon disappeared, replaced by an elegantly clothed figure whose short, ashen hair covered their left eye. Taken aback, Victor realized it was himself, rather older, his thin eyebrows knit tight in thought. He seemed to be observing something, his hand reaching out towards it.

Victor wondered what it was. One day, he would know.

 

All he saw was snow.

He had been walking for hours, his hands frigid from the biting cold of Nevosa. It was a mountainous region impervious to sorcery and dark creatures, inhabited only by a few hundred people. Most of them had been chased there, either with their families or alone. In some cases, people came to the enchanted area on their own accord, seeking a haven from the chaos of war and dark magic. He had hated the place at first; it was so different from the warmth of home in the Land of the Rising Sun…but then he discovered the ice that covered its ponds and lakes, learning quickly how to glide across their icy surface with specially made boots and blades. It was his only respite, together with the soothing presence of his dog, who, like himself, was nameless.

Despite the freezing cold, which was relentless most of the year, his fluffy companion always left the warmth of their cabin to accompany him wherever he went. Today he had gone down to the valley, in need of food and other items that were hard to obtain in the higher ranges of the mountains. In exchange he offered medicinal herbs and talismans, which were sold outside the barrier by the villagers who could make it back safely. It took him two hours just to reach the village, and he could never stay long.

Sometimes he felt it, just outside the village walls, like a darkness ready to choke him and swallow everything he had left. The people living there called his condition _maledetta_ , but assured him it could be fixed, that someday he would be able to go home. When you were cursed, it was harder to travel long distances with the help of magic, and he had many curses on him. He had spent five years mostly alone, fighting them off and seeking ways to be free, until at last he arrived here and had only two left: Ansia and Anonimato. No matter who he consulted, they seemed impossible to lift.

Whenever he was on the verge of giving up, wondering if his family would even remember him if he returned, he snuck into Proibita Forest at the borders of Nevosa, a place no one else dared go near. People were afraid of the wizard rumored to live there, who was said to have powers unlike any other. He, however, felt no fear of any presumed wizard after all the misfortunes brought to him by one known sorcerer who, in order to destroy the economy of the village he came from, threatened to curse every family that remained there. The only way for them to stay and not befall the curse was for one family member taking the burden for the rest. The larger the family, the greater the number of maledictions there were to withstand by whomever made that choice.

In the farewell letter to his family, he had promised he would break free. He was not quite there yet, but in this prison of ice and snow, he was at least safe.

There in the forest was a great frozen lake surrounded by conifers and deciduous trees, unlike any other in Nevosa. Its ice was always as pristine as polished gemstone. When he went there he always kept a respectful distance from the chalet, which stood on a hillside nearby. He was inexplicably drawn to it, as if watched it over the lake. Its appearance was beautiful yet foreboding, a sense of welcoming given only by the blue roses that climbed the small gate to its entry. One day he hoped to muster the courage to open it and knock on the door of whoever lived there.

Struggling against the wind, his heart beat wildly in the knowledge that hidden chalet was the only option left. On their way back from the village, he and his dog were stranded in a blizzard, the path through the mountains to where they lived long buried. All he hoped to do was reach the lake in Proibita forest where someone he never met lived. He wasn’t sure what would happen if he couldn’t, as he wrapped his dog, who could no longer walk, in the wool carrier from his knapsack.

With his dog secured, he dragged himself through the snow for hours, resting against a tree now and then, until he came to his knees underneath a pine to check on his friend. Caressing the curly red hair of his small head, he saw through his frosty lenses that his dog was no longer opening his eyes.

“Come on boy…wake up!” He stroked his damp ears, but there was no reaction.

Panicking, he tucked his lenses away and hugged the dog to his chest, using his free hand to grab his walking stick and continue forward. He knew the lake had to be nearby; according to his compass, he had been going in the right direction, the problem was not walking right past it with his poor vision in the snowy weather.

After ten minutes he began to feel increasingly hopeless. His eyes strained to see. Everything hurt, but there was no time to rest. He stared out in the distance, but he could not tell where the horizon began and the land ended, seeing only the blurs of trees. Tired, he slid down against the side of one, pulling back one of his gloves to wipe the tears from his eyes with the back of his wrist. The wind stung his wet cheeks, and he cursed his bad luck, which was going to cost him the life of his only friend, and then finally his own.

 

Victor had been watching the unnamed man for months now from between the curtains of his window. The first time he saw him he thought he was hallucinating, the isolation of his frozen abode finally getting to him. From time to time, the someone came to the lake to skate gracefully across the ice, often chased by what looked like a puppy. The more he watched this person, the more he ached to leave the chalet and join them, even knowing that he could not.

There was a chain on the gate, one only he knew was there. He could never leave, so he was forced to rely on his dog, Makkachin, and the magic he possessed. Ever since his master returned to Rossia by order of their monarch, Victor had remained alone, knowing he did not want to be dragged into any of the political intrigues that made the old lord lose nearly all his hair. Yuri, the other apprentice who trained under Yakov, had left as well, saying he was tired of the peace and quiet and wanted to see his family again. Victor had convinced him to train under his guidance a little longer, but they bid goodbye when he was seventeen.

It was once he was the only wizard from the land of the Ros left in that harsh, peaceful region that his problems began. The people who hadn’t dared to act on their distrust of wizards before began spreading malicious rumors on why the other two had left, and what Victor planned to do. After a while he found himself cut off from the village, whose gatekeepers shut the gate whenever he came near. Not taking it personally, he found other ways to meet his needs, and sent others in his stead. 

Everything seemed fine. Then, one day, he could no longer open his gate. He tried climbing it, but it felt as though gravity was working against him. Resigned to go through the books in his library until he could come up with something to counter the strangely powerful Barriera charm, he was startled when he heard the wind chime on his doorstep warn him someone was near the chalet. He peeked outside the window. There was indeed someone by his gate. It appeared to be a handsome man, with the typical features of the people that originally lived in those mountains: a broad head, wavy chestnut hair, and a delicate face. The look on his face was hesitant, but he left a rose atop the gate. It was blue.

Victor was not sure why, but he began to cry as a rose bush slowly grew over his gate, closing him in even further.

Later he realized the roses were a good thing. They meant someone purehearted enough could see his home, and hopefully open the gate. Cutting his hair in sacrifice, like one of his books suggested, now seemed highly unnecessary.

Every other day Victor watched the person who skated on the frozen lake like music carried their legs, hoping they might approach his home. He thought of trying to attract their attention with Makkachin, but he did not know how the skater’s dog would react. And if the person just turned away? Victor could not bear the thought.

Instead he waited inside the house, hoping they would come closer and closer, until one day they opened the gate and knocked on his door.

 

Now was not the time to cry. Standing back up on his feet, the unnamed man looked both to his right and left. The sky was hard to tell apart from the ground, but the wind had stopped blowing snow into his face, so he walked on until he saw the sloping roof of the chalet.

Nearly dropping his lenses, he ran towards the gate, whose roses were as freshly preserved as always, made even more beautiful by the frost. Having no time for second thoughts, he burst through and sprinted to the door. Knocking urgently, he barely had a moment to breathe before the door flew open. Without daring to look up, he spoke in one breath, “Please help us,” and without any ceremony, he and his dog were pulled into the warmth inside.

Dizzy, his relief at finding shelter was short-lived as he staggered through the entry, his energy long since depleted. The person put a hand on his waist and an arm around his shoulders, guiding him further inside, until he was set down on what felt like a bench. Finally able to make out the ground, and ignoring the ache of his every limb, he tore off his gloves and reached to unfasten the carrier from his chest. Fumbling with the last clasp, he spoke in rushed sentences.

“Please, take me near the fire…my dog! I need to warm him–” He choked out the last words, his hands shaking as he unwrapped his small poodle. He could hear the sound of a crackling fire inside, its glow dancing across the walls. As his vision continued to return, his eyes fixed on a lustrous, teardrop-shaped pendant hanging from the stranger’s neck. Looking up, he met two eyes that shared its blue tourmaline color.

The person opened their hands in front of him, as if asking him to hand over the dog. There was no time to lose and he was still feeling dizzy, so he complied. He would have to trust those gentle eyes.

He removed the wool blanket and held out his dog to the other man, the sight of the limp form making his heart ache. The stranger brushed the snow off the curls of the poodle’s head before delicately pulling him away. Immediately he began to rub his fingers over the animal’s fur in what seemed like a massage. He stopped after a few moments, shaking his head.

“It’s too late. I need to bring him to my table to see if he can still be resuscitated – can you walk?”

He straightened, wobbling a little before he nodded. He slipped the straps of his knapsack off his shoulders, followed by his heavy coat. He tried to steady his breathing as he walked behind them, his arm bracing the wall, his hand covering his stomach.

His dog was dead.

He had heard of magicians capable of bringing creatures back to life, and he wanted to believe it could happen now with all his heart, but tears still prickled in his eyes. He deserved to be friendless, he thought, unable to shake the grief away despite there still being one last hope.

“Hey, it will be okay.” The stranger put a hand on his shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile, which shook him from his thoughts. They had laid his dog on a round black table, marked with what looked like chalk. In that moment, he noticed two black eyes peeking at him from under the table, and he almost jumped. Then he realized it was another dog, exactly like his apart from color and size.

“When it comes to _pudels_ , I know a few things,” they added, fanning their hand through what looked like smoke coming from the table. He swallowed as he heard the person utter words he did understand, a shiver running down his spine while he watched everything slowly go dark around them, like life was slipping away.

Soon all he heard was the the gentle hum of the person’s voice. In the darkness he could see nothing besides the markings that had been drawn on the table, until the rest of them also became visible, the stranger’s pendant beginning to shine with what seemed like divine light.

Was this the plane between life and death?

The mysterious stranger, or better, the intriguing magician then stopped chanting, and the markings on the table began blaze like volcanic fissures with escaping light. The magician set his hand down on the table, in front of the lifeless body of his dog, and all the light seemed to go out with a flash, leaving the smell of ashes behind.

In a blink he saw the inside of the chalet again, and releasing the breath he did not realize he had been keeping, he edged towards the table. His heart was pounding as he opened his mouth to speak, but the words failed to come out.

“Go head. Wake him up.”

He immediately closed the distance between himself and the table, reaching to caress the soft fur on his dog’s neck. With a whuff, the red poodle opened his eyes, closing them again as if he wanted to go back to sleep. Overjoyed and not wanting to disturb his friend, who was clearly worn out by the whole ordeal, he turned to the magician and threw his arms around him instead.

“Thank you…thank you!”

The magician made a sound as he squeezed them, but did not draw back. He was too deliriously happy to think about what he was doing or to even notice the flush on the man’s face when he pulled away a short distance.

Smiling, he glanced sideways at his dog before looking up the magician again, eyes silently asking if he could pick him up now. The magician nodded.

Gathering his poodle into arms, his relief was slowly replaced by embarrassment, shyness returning to him full force as he fumbled for words.

“F-Forgive me for not introducing myself. I’m…known as l’Erbolista… I sell herbs and live on the other side of this mountain. May I ask your name?”

“Victor Nikiforov. I’m a…” – he paused – “…stay-at-home wizard,” he then added with a chuckle. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Uhm…I don't know how to thank you, Honorable Sir Ni–”

“No need for formalities!” He waved his hand. “Call me Victor.” The magician smiled brightly at him, as if he could not contain his pleasure, but his face soon became serious again. “In reality, I should be thanking you.”

At his thanks he averted his eyes, feeling slightly self-conscious under the intense gaze of the man who not only reversed his bad fortune, but was proving almost irresistibly charming. Victor’s demeanor was positive, warm, and gentle, amplifying his flawless appearance and elegant deportment. He was clearly smart, as well, with an affinity with dogs. L’Erbolista could barely take it all in as a warm feeling spread throughout his chest. When his dog licked his face where a tear had rolled down his cheek, he couldn’t help but laugh as he wiped his eyes.

“For what?” he finally asked.

“Sit down in the chair; I’ll bring you something to eat and we can talk.”

The interior of the chalet had a woody, slightly sweet scent, which he couldn’t tell if came from the man in black or the candles on the windowsill. It was warmer than his cabin and incredibly well furnished, with great portraits hanging on the rustic wood walls. Looking around he felt the urge to take off his boots, not wanting to spoil any of the plush rugs on the floor.

Reaching the armchair Victor pointed out to him, he sat down, barely holding back a sigh as he sank into the cushions with his dog on his lap. Victor excused himself from the room, returning before long with food.

“What's his name?” Victor asked, handing him a tray with a bowl of what smelled like vegetable broth, accompanied by thick slices of brown bread. Not sure if he had the stomach to eat yet, he set the tray onto the stand by the armchair, breaking a small piece of the bread to give to his dog.

“Boy. Just boy…” He tried hiding his grimace, to not wallow in guilt over the fact he still hadn’t given his dog a name. He’d forgotten his own years ago, and wished to forget about the worth in names.

Victor tapped his cheek with his finger, as if contemplating his response before leaving the room again. When he returned, he had a dish with a raw, meaty bone in it, which he offered to the dog. He thanked Victor profusely, asking if there was anything he could to do to repay. Victor just shook his head, saying he hadn’t had such lovely visitors before.

He fought down a blush, hating how emotional he felt from being treated with such kindness. He’d never had a host quite as lovely as Victor.

Settling down in the armchair next to him, Victor stretched his legs before the fire, waving his hand to make it burn brighter. He could feel himself relax in the warmth, and finally turned to try the broth Victor had given him. It was delicious.

The abilities of the wizard were clearly not limited to magic, but pushing that thought aside, he set down the bowl again and posed the question that been burning in the back of his mind for a while.

“How come I've never seen you?” Everyone knew those that practiced magic in Nevosa, especially him, but Victor seemed cut off from the rest.

“In truth, I was trapped here until you came through the gate just now. I know I could have at least gone out to the front yard with Makkachin” – he tilted his head towards his dog – “but I didn't want to scare you off.

 _Oh_ , he thought. He didn’t want to get ahead of himself, but he felt a thrill at the thought of being watched by Victor while he skated. Before he let that distract him, he put his dog down on the floor to join Victor’s, the two already sniffing at each other’s faces at his lap. Once he set down the dish with the bone as well, he picked up the armchair and set it right beside Victor’s.

Victor seemed surprised, but not discontented, and he placed a hand on his arm.

“How long have you been alone here with Makkachin?” He looked straight at Victor, who suddenly seemed at loss for words, gaze falling to the hand on his arm.

“I…I've lost count.” Victor had racked his brains numerous times to find a way to escape, even trying to contact his countrymen using homing pigeons from his motherland, but none of it had seemed to work. Whoever schemed to imprison him made sure the spell would be hard for him to break.

“After the storm, where will you go now that you’re free?”

Victor had thought of it so many times, of the places he would go and what he would do. Now he only wanted to go somewhere very nearby.

“I want to go skating on the lake again. It’s been torturous not being able to join you.”

Victor saw the man smile, hand squeezing his arm before pulling away, his absence felt in its wake. Everything about the man conveyed a timid warmth just waiting to bloom the more time they spent together.

“I also…look forward to it.”

Victor eyes shone brightly, seeming to grow even more excited. “Do you have your skates?” 

“I do. I tend to carry them with me when I go down the mountain.”

“Today will probably prove difficult.” Victor laughed softly. “It’s almost evening. Please stay the night; the forest is protected by my magic, but it’s not without dangers when it’s dark…”

He felt his heart flutter at the invitation, thankful to have any reason to stay longer. “I don't think I’d make it back anyway, with all the snow,” he admitted. “The storm is still raging.” 

Victor grinned and stood up from the armchair, holding up his hand. “There is something I must do for you before you leave, too.”

He stared up at Victor, not daring to say anything.

“There is a way to cope with that horrendous curse put on you…” 

His eyes widened in shock, not believing his ears. He knew his misery was easy to pick up on, but no one ever claimed they could certainly resolve it.

“…but before we can try, I need to know your name.”

“I don't remember it,” he whispered. He knew it was a common requisite for any cure, otherwise his soul would not respond as strongly to the magic.

“That's okay. If you let me, I can try searching your memory.”

“You…you can do that?” He knew he shouldn’t be this surprised right after the man brought his dog back to life, but everything was happening so quickly. He had consulted numerous magicians, and knew hope was lost once they asked for his name.

“Yes. Here” – Victor turned quickly to kneel in front of him – “just give me your hands.”

He looked down at Victor’s hands: his nails were clearly well kept, along with his skin, which was rosy at the pads of his palms and fingers. Even without focusing on such details he admired the shape of those fingers, slender and long, knowing that entertwined with his, they’d be brimming with strength. Hesitantly, he dragged his hands over his thighs to reach Victor’s, lifting his head to look back at him.

He regretted his decision, soon feeling his cheeks burn like embers, afraid Victor would know what he he’d been thinking.

A few moments passed in silence before Victor spoke again, tightening his grasp.

“Wow. This is strange. I’ve never encountered a mind so hard to breach. We’ll have to work on it.”

He nodded and Victor let go of his hands with a gentle smile. Despite the fact he wanted to remember his name very badly, he was relieved Victor couldn’t see into his mind.

“I know not remembering my name after all these years is somewhat of an anomaly, even for such a strong spell. I was forced to leave, and couldn’t contact my family until I was rid of my Anima curse. It took so long to lift I almost forget who I was. Now the distance from my homeland is so great, not even a letter would reach there. It’s very isolated…”

Victor listened intently as he continued, eyes never leaving his face as he shared the story of how he was cursed. He’d never really told anyone what he went through, his miserable state already painfully obvious to others, especially practitioners of magic. The one time he’d truly vented his woes was to a venerable monk he met in the Kingdom of Thai.

When he stopped speaking, excusing himself for going off about his problems so suddenly, Victor shook his head and smiled.

“I want to do anything I can to help you; that's how I show my gratitude.”

The words slid over him like a caress, and for the first time in a while, he felt his worries temporarily melt away.


End file.
